Magic, or in these new age times of Amerika and kulture, perhaps magick. Going back to the Elizabethan time of John Dee ... sales are magic. Every time you sell a painting on velvet it’s magical. But of course, that is on a very low level. Almost beneath the mundane … Scott is musing that all types of humanity, The Children of the Empire, will pass through his crew eventually. If he keeps going long enough, even a few of Charlie Manson’s stray girls, the Dog Soldiers for the family, will appear unkempt and unwashed. Then the crew will experience the killer type. For now, it’s magic … Demelza went out with them today. Her real name is probably Sue or Jane …
Scott was aware as he carried out the sales talk today with Nicky, of her eyes never leaving him. When you are stood in front of, say, twenty people, conducting interactive sales theatre, sure you know that most people are watching you. Yet Scott’s never had this feeling before of someone intently staring at him. Seeming to bore into his head. Strangely gave him a sense of deja vu and made him think of Eva. When the sales talk is over and the room gradually disperses with much scraping of chairs and the sudden rush of chatter, the soundtrack is Marty Balin, the lead singer with Jefferson Airplane, singing on the track Today from the album Surrealistic Pillow. It has a haunting quality to it, which seems to match the large, saucer-like eyes in front of Scott. The girl must be using kohl around her eyes. Scott has been here before. She reminds Scott of pictures he’s seen of Nefertiti and Cleopatra. Old prints of Hollywood actresses from the days of the silent screen. She touches Scott’s elbow.
‘I’m Demelza. I want to be in your crew.’ Her deep-set, black eyes seem to be trying to hypnotize Scott. She could be Eva’s slightly younger sister. It's uncanny.
‘Well, I can’t see Selinda here today. We should have room in the car. Where did you see the advert? Which publication?’
‘I didn’t. Do I look like the sort of person who would answer an advertisement in a newspaper or magazine for a job? Somebody mentioned you to me. Told me about this office and said I should only go out with you.’
‘Who was that? Was it Eva?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Well, I guess not.’ Her saucer-like eyes are compelling Scott to take her with him. He can't resist … Demelza didn’t sell, but she entertained the crew most royally. They are getting the hang of devil worshipers. A self-declared witch who claims to have been living with the notorious Alex Saunders until recently. Just how many more of his young apprentice sylphs will end up in Scott’s crew? The self-proclaimed wickedest man in all the world. Just an Aleister Crowley wannabe ...
Demelza, who is irrepressible, is sat in the middle on the back seat, with her long red hair, large kohl powder edged eyes. Silver lipstick, silver and red-painted hand nails and toenails. A long, loose, black dress of velvet, that covers we don’t know what. Black, open-toed sandals … It wouldn't surprise Scott if after a few hours of her company, Demelza suddenly took off her long black dress. Pulled it up right over her head to reveal that she is really a man and her actual name is Orlando … She’s completely outlandish in a witchy kind of a way … The News of the World and their lurid exposures have a lot to answer for. Irresponsible journalism of the sensational kind attracts a large audience. The yellow press. All these sexual detail in continual features on Alex Saunders can have the far-reaching effect. Young, bored, teenage girls, out there living in suburbia, get excited at the idea of devil worship. Praying to Satan. Free love. The News of the World corrupting the female youth of the Empire's Children into phantasizing about satanic worship and the mysteries of the Black Arts. Aleister Crowley comes up time and time again, no matter how many times The Screws print Alex Saunders revelations. Wicked goings-on in unholy places … Love is the law, love under will, the law of Thelema. Do what thou will shall be the whole law … That could well be the catchphrase and epitaph for the Children of the Empire.
Later that same day, driving back from Dunstable in the late evening summer rain, Tom, always the practical and astute one, asks Demelza, as he hands her the latest joint out of sequence, tactful like.
‘If you know so much about magic, how come you blanked tonight and couldn’t even get inside a house?’ Demelza fixes those large, kohl-edged eyes on the back of Tom’s head of red, curly hair in the late evening half-light and oncoming headlights of all the passing cars.
‘Magic is the real way, the true religion of the people from the dawn of creation. Governments, religious forces, political groups, have all tried very hard to suppress the art of Black magic in the last two thousand years. At one time, the great magician, necromancer, astrologer and mathematician John Dee, was Queen Elizabeth the First’s own personal astrologer and confidant.’
‘The secret of the philosopher's stone.’
‘A little unheeded knowledge is a very dangerous thing Scott. I really like you, but you have to be very careful. I caution you. Evil powers are always listening. You may think we are living in very open times, but it is really only a brief charade. The forces of oppression will soon decide to come down on us with great vengeance!’ Demelza pauses and takes the proffered joint again. She places her right finger-nailed hand of silver and red on the back of Scott’s neck, as if to protect him with her magic powers. Ward off evil demons. As if reflecting on Tom’s question, Demelza breaks into an answer.
‘I could have used my magic tonight to gain entry into houses and would have sold many paintings. But you see Tom, real magic brought forth is a very special force. Not to be used in a superficial way. Every time you practise it, each time you invoke magic powers and raise up spirits and demons, you put yourself at serious risk of harm!’
‘You practise white magic then,’ offers up Eric hopefully.
‘No.’ Demelza turning her head to fix the full face of her glare onto poor Eric.
‘We practise the sacred Black Arts … Scott keeps saying you come from the land of the long white cloud. The country of the Māori people. You must have come across many magical superstitions as you were growing up. The lore and rites of the Māori people are enshrined in your country over many, many thousands of years ...’
Demelza pauses at last, hands the joint onto Carole Bishop …
Demelza’s kohl-edged eyes linger on Eric. He seems like a frightened rabbit, trapped in oncoming headlights.
‘You should specialize in painting witches, Eric. You could capture and portray us at Sabbaths, Saturnalias, sacrifices, covens. I will help you gain acceptance. You can paint me naked praying to the Devil, my Lord and Master if you like. You can be inspired by my obeisance to the Prince of Darkness.’
Here we go again. Was going to say deja vu, but it’s more like a repeat performance. All these young witches want to be painted by Eric and inveigle him into their magic and sorcery. Eric has gone very pale, even in the night-time glow of the Cortina flashing through the rain. A sudden splash of light from a passing car illuminates his acute discomfort …
‘Without religion one walks continually in darkness.’
‘Devil worship is the oldest religion, Scott … Are you a Christian? Do you attend church?’
‘No. But my mother was a Sunday School teacher for many years with The Sowers League.‘
‘So, you are without belief then. You do not pray to anyone. You can pray with me Scott. We can rejoice in the power of Satan together and He will reward us. You could become a chosen servant with me.’ Eric laughs, a reflex action to his own discomfort and fear …
Scott drops the crew off one by one at their preferred destinations. Demelza insists on being last. She’s got rid of everybody else. Quite plainly setting her witches cap and broomstick at Scott … She becomes evasive when Scott asks her a simple question as to where she would like to be dropped off. Gradually it comes out. She has to leave where she has been living this very night. She wants Scott to help her … All in a day’s work, having to deal with witches and warlocks. Finally he gets an address out of Demelza. She’s nervous. There must always be someone with more powerful magic than you … Right. At last! Of course, it's the house in Notting Hill Gate. Number 13 Powis Square. Just how many young witches has this Alex Saunders got there? Powis Square and the film Performance are tied together in Scott’s mind. Not looking good by keep coming back here. Scott doesn’t want to go the way of James Fox after he made that movie.
Number 13 Powis Square in the pouring rain. Demelza invites Scott up into her room. Shouldn’t go but feel helpless to refuse. She is using some of her magic power now … Nothing for it! She looks half-beautiful and eighteen under the translucent landing light. Demelza is probably really an age-worn old hag out for a joyride before Old Nick himself takes her one last time … She keeps very close to Scott as they move up the partially lit staircase. You could easily fall and break your neck in the clutch of some dark spell placed upon you. Demelza is creeping slowly, her right hand now has a hold of Scott’s arm. He can feel her inward tremble through her silver and red nailed fingertips. Fear seems to be the energy which dominates Number 13. The power of fear can gain a terrible hold over you. Motivate you to accomplish almost anything out of sheer dread … Quite clearly, this Aleister Crowley manqué, Alex Saunders, has taken his pleasure of Demelza the young witch, then quickly tiring of her sickly-sweet charms. Discovering other enchanting, weird sisters to satisfy his diabolical desires. He has cast her out. Demelza is no longer a part of the inner circle. No longer a privileged enchantress studying to be a sorceress …
The strangest feeling. Scott for a moment could swear he remembers this exact moment slowly moving up these stairs with Demelza. Uncanny, but he also knows that he has never in his life been inside Number 13 Powis Square.
Demelza pushes a door wide open. Its hinges creak. Who knows what she is expecting. Scott always finds that the best way to handle situations like this is to be smart, stay loose and if necessary, be prepared to die. That way, you stand a chance of conquering fear which rises up in all of us. Demelza seems satisfied that no evil spirits are about to descend upon them … She starts gathering her personal belongings together in a large red holdall. This room has one orange light dangling right in the middle. As you would expect. Creepy Nigerian masks on the dark brown painted walls. They could come alive at any moment is the impression they convey. They are definitely watching all the movements. Probably reporting back to the chief warlock Alex Sanders right now. This house in Powis Square is probably owned by some old grandmother or great aunt closely associated with the hellcat Sanders, and he has taken possession of it. Demelza shows Scott her black-painted broomstick … All the young witches have broomsticks. Scott supposes it’s like all cavalry officers having swords … Strange noises sounding from within the house. Chanting, sexual activity, frightened young goats, who knows? Demelza blanches. Pretends she hasn’t heard anything and proudly and sensually strokes the end of her broomstick. For a moment when Scott looks at this red-haired witch in the orange light, he sees Eva and not her ...
The last seven or so inches of Demelza’s black broomstick are expertly carved in the shape of a prick. An exact replica, right down to the deftly carved wrinkles, even a protruding vein. Maybe the warlock who likes to proclaim himself ‘The wickedest man in all the world’ slept. A spent sexual force. Demelza must have slowly stroked his cock as he slumbered. Carefully made a few sketches without reawakening his full sexual appetite. This red-haired witch girl with the kohl-powder around her black eyes is a true artist of our time. No wonder she came along for the joyride today ... Demelza smiles. Almost childlike.
‘I want to carve your cock on another broomstick I have safely hidden away.’ Scott is nonplussed.
‘Let's just get out of this room. Creepy masks,orange lightbulb, not for me.’
‘Sure, why not. But heh, for the second time of asking, as I said to Eva, I’ve only got a small willy, nothing for you to get excited about.’ Demelza smiles coyly …
‘Liar liar, you’ll set the room on fire! I want to carve it now. I’ve been dreaming about it all day long. If only I had the other broomstick with me.’
‘It’s a form of aphrodisiac all this talk of carved cocks on broomsticks, Black magic rites and fucking with people who you think represent the Devil himself.’ Demelza laughs in a late night, weird sister, kind of a way. And all the Nigerian masks and fetish objects in this orange-lit room seem to move closer.
‘Witches are special, Scott. We can walk, talk, dream and cream all at the same time.’
‘You must know Eva. She must have spoken of Advanced Art to you?’
Demelza busies herself looking around the room for something she’s forgotten to pack. Sometimes silence can be very revealing.
What can Scott do, but get away, out from this room. Suzie Creamcheese doesn’t carve pricks on Californian broomsticks, not that he has ever heard of. The Plastercast chicks are just happy with the moulded figurines of the glamorous pricks of rock stars and whatever stardust rubs off on them …
Finally, Scott manages to persuade Demelza away from the room. She almost trips on the stairs carrying that large red holdall and the cock-headed broomstick … Walking towards the Cortina, parked in the Square, it’s still lightly raining. Refreshing after the oppressive atmosphere of that house. As they approach the car Scott can feel eyes watching their progress from Number 13. Demelza knows it, which is why she is talking so quickly. Proposing schemes for her and Scott. Making plans for them. As if she can stretch away from the powerful hold that Alex Sanders has over her … This is going to be a long night. Scott can feel it as they finally exit Powis Square and he manoeuvres them back onto Notting Hill Gate heading towards the Bayswater Road. Demelza is hurriedly saying that she wants to go to another house in Westbourne Park to collect that other broomstick of hers … Ah well, Scott becoming resigned. Performing a U-turn on Notting Hill Gate Road in the light rain and drizzle. Looking out for police cars, there is always a strong police presence in the Notting Hill Gate area.
Parking the Paris Green Cortina in Westbourne Park Villas. Only one house has any lights on … Demelza doesn’t want to get out of the car just yet. She’s waiting for an auspicious moment. Which house she is considering to try and gain entry to Scott isn’t quite sure. When he questions her she waves vaguely in the direction of about three. Hitting her hand against her broomstick, which is propped diagonally across the Cortina, from Demelza in the front passenger seat to the back seat behind Scott. Starting to get accustomed to broomsticks jamming the Cortina space … Demelza is now absentmindedly stroking the end of the sculpted penis … Scott laughing to himself. Do magicians and Black magic practitioners ever become absent minded?
‘I have a much better job for us. We can work together. Far less hours, more money and much more fun. You will really get off on it, Scott.’ Her voice has taken on that bewitching tone again which prompts suggestion and control …
‘Well, go on. I’m all ears sat here in the car at twelve thirty in the morning in the rain.’
‘We can be in films together. I have a contact who will get us well paid work at once. What do you say?’
‘What sort of film?’
‘You have a suspicious mind Scott!’
‘I’m curious, I like to know things. You can’t be a writer and not be inquisitive.’
‘Oh, you’ll love it. Why, we could be in a porno movie right away.’
‘Pornography? Hard or soft porn?’
‘Well, soft at first to see if we are good together. It pays very well and we wouldn’t have to travel at first.’
‘You mean we would find out if there is any sexual magic between us …’ Demelza ignores this comment altogether. Her right hand has taken a furious grasp of the penis-headed broomstick. Her silver and red painted fingernails sliding around it. Rubbing up and down.
‘I could contact this friend of mine, Joe, tomorrow morning. I’m sure he could get us into a soft porn movie straightaway. They have access to this lovely large house we can film in. It’s in Eaton Place near to the Kings Road.’ Scott having visions of Mystery Girl again.
‘How long? How much? What exactly would we have to do?’
‘Well, they would pay us two hundred pounds for only two hours work. Except it’s not really work, is it? You’ll be so photogenic, Scott. We could get a lot of work. It would only be us and Joe who films with one camera and directs. Sound is added later. Then if we really hit it off, they will offer us other films. It’s all very easy.’
‘You’ve done it before then?’
‘Yes, a few films. I really enjoy it. Though I prefer the really hardcore porn. That gets me excited.’
‘Are you ready to go and get this other broomstick yet?’
‘Just wait a bit longer. It may stop raining … What do you say, Scott?’
‘I think it was Noel Coward, bless him, who said ‘I don’t think pornography is harmful, but it is terribly, terribly boring’. I suppose this film would be one of those storylines whereby you are a bored young housewife living in Belgravia, and I’m say, an electrician come to fix an electrical fault. You open the front door scantily dressed. The au pair has the day off. The child is at nursery school. It’s early in the afternoon. All suggestive comment. Half removed clothing and the promise of a sexual romp that never fully materializes. Leave them lusting for more, ready to purchase the next film … Yes? Something like that? Am I right?’ Demelza strokes the penis tip on the black broomstick and nods her head gently up and down in a yes.
‘Do you know what the word pornography actually means?’ No reply. Just goes on stroking and looking across the way at a couple of houses on Westbourne Park Villas.
‘Well, since you’re so interested, I researched its origins for my book The Children of the Empire.‘
‘Will I be in it?’
‘When were you born?’
‘April 6th, 1952. My power number is nine. What’s yours?’
‘I have no idea. Yes, you will be in it. The Children have to be born on or after 6 August 1945 … Pornography comes from the Greek. A literal translation is the writings of harlots. Porno in Greek means prostitute and graphy equals writing. I guess in ancient Greece there were a lot of hetaeras and harlots. When their days were over and their attractions had faded, they wrote saucy memoirs of the boudoir kind. Insights into the Bacchanalian orgies and sybarite debauches on offer. Today I guess it would be Diana Dors' racy memoirs every three years, semi-serialized in The News of the World.’ Demelza doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested …
‘What would happen if the first soft porn film was a success then?’
‘Why, Joe would get us set up with the director, Jason Lindsay. He’s the hotshot porn director of the moment. His films sell really well in Sweden and America. We would be flown out to Amsterdam. All expenses paid. They would film on a canal boat. Say two day’s work. Hardcore porn. We would get five hundred pounds.’
‘That would be full nudity. Ménage-a-trois. Toilet sex. The offer of carnal lust, but yet again not delivering. Leave them wanting, the promise of more films … Maybe if this director, Jason Lindsay, is half as good as you seem to suspect he is, it could well be real life intruding upon sexual fantasy … But then what? They would soon tire of us and move on to another couple or three. As D.H. Lawrence once said, ‘It’s all sex in the head.’
‘As regards money, why, I shouldn’t really tell you, but heh, it’s almost one in the morning, and I’m going to roll another spliff and, in a minute, insist you go and see if you can get that other broomstick of yours. You’ll chafe your hand if you keep rubbing that wooden cock like that. On a good week though, and I’ve just had eight in a row, I earn a hundred and ten pounds, which is made up of my sales, crew points, petrol bonus and my cut of the crew’s sales, plus my own points. Out of that I probably spend thirty pounds a week on petrol, food for the crew and the dope we smoke on the road. So, I’m getting around eighty pounds a week. Sure, I have to expose myself all of the time, but heh, I don’t have to take my clothes off. Participate in a game of tease to entice mainly men to spend more money on the next luridly promoted tease. So, thank you for the offer, Demelza, but it just ain’t worth the trouble and I’m quite happy as I am for now. The only temptation would be valuable material for my novel, but heh, I guess I could make it up. You could tell me your pornographic film experiences and I could put them in the book … Now for Christ sake, leave that cock alone before you wear it out. Go and get that other broomstick will you!’
Demelza is back in the Cortina with that other broomstick of hers. It hasn’t stopped raining and her long red hair is dripping wet and half-glistening in the reflection from a streetlamp. The rigmarole and contortions involved in having to position the second broomstick in the car. Scott can’t help feeling that when he starts up the Cortina engine, instead of driving off, they will fly away out over Westbourne Park Villas … The second broomstick looks the same. Though it’s not painted black with a brown sculpted cock at one end and a broombrush speckled red at the other. The strange detail of it all … Demelza walked quite slowly and carefully in the rain, when most people would have tried to cover their heads and run, splashing in the forming puddles. If she knocked on the house door or rang the bell, Scott never heard it. Mind you, the noise and splatter of the pitter-patter rain. No lights came on in the house. The door was half-opened in the dark and Demelza disappeared from view. No lights ever came on. Say five minutes elapsed. The door opened fully in the dark to allow Demelza out, carrying her freshly reclaimed broomstick under her arm …
Back in the room in Milner Square. Demelza is sat on the futon drying off her hair. Laid alongside her are the two broomsticks. She insisted on bringing them up in case someone stole them from the car. Scott’s rolling a spliff sat at the table. Who would steal them? A passing witch in a hurry to get somewhere? Best not say anything.
'Bang!’ The door thunders open and a pissed looking Patricia comes charging in. Her plump thighs are exposed in black laddered stockings. If her skirt was any shorter it would be classed as a belt.
‘Who's this bitch? What's this fucking cow doing in my house!’ Washed-out Linda all over again. Demelza carries on rubbing her hair. Looks straight at a wide eyed, glaring Patricia, and utters some kind of sound. Not loud but deep. Patricia’s body seems to slacken as if the tension-wires in her have been cut. When she speaks, Scott nearly falls off his unstable chair.
‘All the rooms here are being squatted at the moment I’m afraid.’
‘That’s alright.’ offers Demelza.
‘Scott’s taking me over to Elder Street when I’ve finished drying my hair.’
‘Elgin Avenue,’ Scott regaining some composure.
‘Well, look,’ smiles Patricia sweetly, ‘I won’t stay, enjoy the night.’ And with that, Patricia departs … Demelza says nothing. Simply accepts the proffered joint. Scott knows that was some kind of magic spell she uttered. A cantrip. The sort of occurrence that you read about in books and don’t really believe. You might see such a performance in a Hammer Horror film with Christopher Lee or a Roger Corman movie with Vincent Price. Up until a couple of hours ago, Demelza had done nothing but talk about magic since she set off with the crew from Hollywood Road. Scott doubted that she could even perform a simple card trick let alone perform the simplest magical trick. And yet that moment with Patricia just now was pure magic. Yet here she is smoking that joint, still rubbing her red hair, not looking at Scott and making no mention of it. Scott thought she was a make-believe fraud, given over to hocus pocus. In the last ninety minutes or so, she has entered the house of Alex Sanders. Scott never saw him, but he just knows it was his house. He can still feel Alex Sanders watching them. Demelza was sleeping with ‘the wickedest man in all the world’ ... She produces a broomstick with a cock carved at one end. A sheer work of art. She could show it off at an art gallery. There is an exhibition of pop art which has just opened at the Tate Gallery at Millbank. Featuring the likes of Roy Lichtenstein, Andy Warhol and Peter Blake, among others. Demelza could show her broomstick there, it’s so good. Call it something like A Witch’s Delight ...
She somehow got into a house in Westbourne Park Villas without knocking on the door or ringing the bell. No lights ever came on and she emerged five minutes later carrying a broomstick. Got back into the Cortina and never mentioned it. She’s now uttered some cantrip at Patricia and totally transformed her into an agreeable landlady who wishes them good night … Time to move Demelza on to the squat at Elgin Avenue. With that kind of power available to her, it is better that Scott stays on his own tonight, what’s left of it. Gone one-thirty in the morning and Demelza is looking straight at him with those saucer-like, kohl-powder ringed eyes. She can probably read his every thought which is scary … Alex Sanders is viewing them intently from afar. That is sinister and nightmarish … Magic is an unholy business and highly dangerous. Not to be taken lightly …